Fly On The Wall
by patemalah21
Summary: 221B is invaded by an annoying fly. A one-shot dedicated Surinah's birthday challenge.


A/N This is unashamedly a fluff story about Sherlock and John.

This story is dedicated to Serinah, fellow in-mate at Mrs. Hudson's Kitchen Forum. Happy Birthday dear!

The Fly on the Wall

John looked up from his blog and heaved a sigh as he watched his flat mate who was reclined on the sofa, wave his hand in front of his face for the hundredth time.

"You know you could get up and find the fly swatter," John suggested. "It's not going to leave you alone. That's what is so annoying about houseflies. Once they find you they never go away."

Sherlock sighed deeply. "Can't," he mumbled irritably.

"Why?" John asked absently. He wasn't really interested in the answer as long as it didn't end up a request that he deal with the annoying insect.

"Used the wire handle in an experiment last week," Sherlock explained.

"Humph," John answered and typed another sentence. He glanced at his friend in time to see Sherlock's hands slowly move up to his face, pause briefly, then clap together suddenly.

"Got it!"

"That's good," John said.

Sherlock held the crushed fly by one wing and peered at it with some interest.

"Flies are the only insect to have two wings - all others have four," he said.

"A fly beats its wings two hundred times a second, That's three times faster than a hummingbird."

"Fascinating," John grunted.

"House flies' feet are ten million times more sensitive to the taste of sugar than the human tongue," Sherlock continued as he dangled the insect overhead.

"That's why they won't leave my jam alone," John said.

Sherlock twisted the fly about delicately several times.

"Flies vomit on food before eating it, so as to soften the meal up," Sherlock glanced sideways to observe his friend's reaction. "You don't need me to tell you that fly vomit swarms with bacteria," Sherlock said with a voice that sounded rather smug.

John looked up from the laptop and frowned. "That is just disgusting Sherlock. You know, I really don't need that image in my head right now."

Sherlock smirked at the look on John's face. "Flies can carry typhoid, cholera, diarrhea, amoebic dysentery, T.B, anthrax, gangrene, bubonic plague, leprosy, scarlet fever and yellow fever …"

"You are just full of it today aren't you?" John interrupted rather sarcastically. "Do you have any more fascinating fun fly facts to share? Hey wait a minute, that's kind of hard to say. Bet you can't say fascinating fun fly facts three times really fast!"

"Flies defecate every four to five minutes," Sherlock informed John twisting the fly about as he totally ignored his friend.

"Thanks for sharing that," John said. "That's so important. I can't ever image that you would consider deleting that from your mind. Now what about my challenge? Or are you afraid that you just might mispronounce a word?"

"Fascinating fun fly facts, fascinating flund fly flacks, fascinating flung flu facts," Sherlock sang out rapidly.

Both men looked at each other and laughed.

It was quiet in the flat for ten minutes. John finished his blog entry, closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair to rest his eyes. It was so quiet he almost dozed off.

"Flies are really stupid," Sherlock next remarked. "No researcher has ever been able to teach flies anything. Fish learn, ants learn, snails learn, cockroaches learn, even worms learn … but never flies.

"Hmm," John said. "And who does that remind me of?"

"Anderson!" Both men shouted and began to laugh.

There was another long pause and John actually managed to dose off a bit.

"Some flies remain joined together for up to eighty minutes when mating." Sherlock suddenly announced quite loudly.

John opened one eye and looked at his friend who was now sitting up, but still staring at the dead fly in his hand.

"Lucky bastards," John said. "Is that a boy fly or a girl fly?"

Sherlock snorted and threw John an irritated scowl. "Your lack of proper vocabulary appalls me John. He stared at the fly in question for a moment then announced. "It's a male. Female flies are larger than males and this one is quite small."

"Small is good," John said half under his breath. "That can't be too bad, they seem to have a lot going for them in the endurance department.

"Umm," Sherlock responded. "Now if you want endurance records . . ." His comment was interrupted by the sound of his mobile ringing. The sound indicated that the text was from Lestrade. Sherlock fished about in his pockets and pulled out the phone, read the message, and crowed excitedly.

"We have a case!" He shouted and flung his arms upward in excitement. The dead fly's body shot straight up in the air then arced gracefully until it fell somewhere behind the couch. "Hurry! This one's at least an eight!" the detective exclaimed.

"Wait a bloody minute," John yelled as he fished under his chair for his shoes. "What's going on?" Carrying his left shoe, John dashed down the steps and out onto the sidewalk in time to see the Consulting Detective disappearing into the back of a cab. "Hang on a minute!" John shouted again and was just barely able to dive in beside Sherlock as the cab began to move. "Sherlock, where are we going?"

Ignoring his friend, Sherlock leaned forward and gave the cabbie the address. "Sevile Club on Brook Road, and hurry please," Sherlock sat back with a satisfied thump and grinned at his friend.

"What is going on?" John demanded in a very exasperated voice as he managed to slip his left shoe on his foot finally.

Sherlock Holmes smiled widely at his friend and said with a twinkle in his eye. "I think you will find the mystery to be most apropos, John. We are being called to the aid of the London Flyfisher's Club!"


End file.
